


Stay Forever Alive

by sherlocksavedme



Category: Grey's Anatomy, Owen Hunt - Fandom
Genre: Death, Self-Harm, Suicide, Surgery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2018-08-19 11:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8203940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocksavedme/pseuds/sherlocksavedme
Summary: Owen Hunt's capacity for empathy is put to the test when a child in dire need of help--physically, mentally, and emotionally--arrives in his ER.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I barely passed biology yall I'm a fuckin dumbass.

“April! We’ve got a laceration injury four minutes out. Pretty substantial,” Owen called over his shoulder as he grabbed a trauma gown from the dispenser on the wall. 

"An _ER_ lac?" The co-trauma surgeon echoed. Owen shrugged. She nodded and began tying back her red hair. “I'll grab Reeves. Lacerations can be good practice.” 

Owen nodded. She left to find her intern and Owen waited outside the ER doors.  _A substantial laceration. Probably from a kitchen accident or a ladder that slipped,_ he thought.  

As the wailing of the ambulance grew louder, Owen took in the familiar flush of adrenaline that kept him on his toes and stood up straight.  _Time to save lives._  By the time the ambulance arrived, April wasn’t out with him yet.  _How hard could it be to find two interns?_  

Owen readied himself. The ambulance doors swung wide. A paramedic backed out, lifting a gurney. “Noah Lumelle, seventeen-year-old male, dozens of lacerations to the right and left arm. Found passed out in the field, BP 160 over 90, GCS of eight.”  _A kid? With lacs like these?_ The first responder looked solemn, mouth pressed in a thin line. Her eyes were judgmental and dark. “I found this at the field.” She handed over a slip of ripped notebook paper. What twinge of doubt he was able to dam up resurfaced as he unfolded it.  _I told you to stop asking questions._ The blood in his veins went cold.  

Owen and her touched eyes for a fleeting moment. An unforgiving grimace was plastered into the lines on her face. She knew what the doctors would encounter momentarily. Owen snatched his gaze from the paper and stuffed it in his trauma gown pocket. “Kepner!” he hollered over his shoulder. The surgeon rushed forward to meet the gurney and switched places with the paramedic. He swept his gaze over the boy.  

Both his arms were wrapped tight in thick gauze, and already he could see spots of red seeping through. His chest rose and fell too rapidly for Owen’s comfort, and his cheeks were round and bright and flushed. His face was streaked with the residue of tears. “He certainly doesn’t look seventeen,” he grunted aloud to April as she raced to his side, tying up her yellow trauma gown.  

“What do we have?”  

“Found passed out with lacerations to both arms. Elevated BP.” 

April met his steady gaze. “Do we know what from?” 

“No idea yet. But there was a note.” When April looked away to shine a light in his eyes, Owen grimaced and let a wave of anguish pass through his chest.  _He’s so small, and there’s only a few ways this could’ve happened._  

“A note?” she breathed. Owen gave her a bitter nod. She sighed and shook her head once. “His pupils look fine. Mallon and Reeves are ready for us,” April told him. Owen nodded absently and burst through the ER doors. Nurses scattered to clear the way. 

“Reeves, get a suture kit on standby, and Kepner, clear out a trauma room! Page Avery and Robbins!” As the doctors rushed about to follow his orders, Owen looked at his face once again.  _No way he’s seventeen._ “How did this happen?” he asked the paramedic alongside him.  

Owen was taken aback at the look of disgust written so clearly across her face. “Don’t know anything for sure, but it’s was most likely an attempt on his life. You saw the note.” She spat the last words out like they were dirty, something you would never be caught doing. She rolled her eyes. “Teenagers,” she scoffed. 

Owen glanced at her and wondered for a moment if she was being serious. He saw no trace of remorse or empathy on the woman’s face.  _She’s being serious,_ he realized as cold dread gripped his shoulders. “Okay,” he grunted at last. “I have it from here.” 


	2. Chapter 2

As the team worked to transfer him from the gurney to the table, he nudged Kepner’s elbow. “Don’t let me forget to page psych when he’s conscious.” April looked at him with a knowing expression and nodded somberly. The two finished hooking him up to the monitor and IV. Owen chewed on his lip against uninvited nerves.  _His note is in my pocket._  

The monitor chirped quickly, showing the beats of his heart racing. The two interns looked excited and nervous respectively; probably first-years. “Cool,” a bright-eyed, blonde guy whispered. Owen shot him a warning glance that shut him up. He gave his friend a half-smile, whose eyes were narrowed in concentration. Her fingers trembled slightly. 

“Shut up, Mallon,” she muttered. 

Owen glanced at them from the corner of his eye. He sighed and turned his focus on the boy under his hands. “Uh, Reeves,” he muttered. The girl looked up, wide-eyed. “Grab me the betadine.” Owen adjusted his stance as he began to unwrap the wad of bandages, preparing himself. “Oh, dear God,” he muttered. April and he touched gazes briefly.  

Dozens of glaring red gashes shone against his skin, at least two centimeters wide and several deeper, all along his forearm and past his elbow. Fat was clearly visible, and a few were still trickling blood. “Dr. Mallon, how deep are these?” Mallon squeezed himself in between Kepner and examined them closely, hovering his fingertips over the cuts.  _Don’t you dare touch them,_ Owen thought. He was puzzled by his sudden hostility but blinked hard.  

Kepner stretched over and adjusted the monitor. “He’s stable, just a high BP. I’ll push in five of hydralazine.” Owen nodded absently and waited for a response from the intern, who looked daunted. The EKG began to slow to a safer speed. 

“Well?” 

“I—uh,” he stuttered. “Deep enough for stitches.” The trauma surgeon tried to ignore the sympathy aching in his chest for the patient and shuffled in to get a closer look. 

 “Oh, don’t tell me you went through all of med school not knowing how to eyeball a measurement, Mallon!” Owen snapped. 

“No! I—it’s, most of these look to be seven to nine centimeters deep?” He glanced up at Owen nervously. 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Mallon’s mouth hung open for a moment, and Hunt was glad he couldn’t see him smile at his expense behind his mask. 

“T-telling. Yes, at least seven centimeters deep. You can see fat. He’ll need stitches.” 

“The patient isn’t conscious to give consent for stitches. What do we do in the meantime?”  

“Clean it,” Reeves piped up, pushing herself in front of Mallon. “I can do that.” Owen saw that her hands were still shaking, but her tone gave nothing of her anxiety away. He liked her faux confidence.  

“Good. You do that, Reeves. Mallon can cancel Avery’s page. We won’t need him.” He kept a critical eye on their work. When he was satisfied, he pulled Kepner outside the trauma room and gripped her upper arm in desperation.  

“What is it, Owen?” Her soft, light voice was comforting to him, though he’d never admit it. She knew when he was distressed, and seemed to always know what to say. 

He searched her bright gaze pleadingly.  _Please understand!_ “April, I’ve seen this before. I’ve seen this in soldiers.” He spoke slow.   

She furrowed her brow. “What, lacerations?” A corner of her mouth lifted. “Yeah, so have I, we’ve seen it together.” She tipped her head after a moment. “What about it? Are you okay?” 

“Y-yes, I am, but,” he heaved a sigh in frustration and stepped forward. “I’ve  _seen_ this.” He pointed towards the trauma room and kept his voice down. April held on to his gaze, confused. “But not in a teenager. Not in a teenager with a  _note_.” He passed it to her and she skimmed it, eyes darkening. 

“Oh, dear Jesus,” she exhaled. He slipped it back in his pocket and grimaced. She kept her eyes on his. “Is this what we think it is?” 

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be,” he murmured. The aching in his chest returned and he blew out a sigh of exasperation. “Can you finish up there?  I’ll try to track down the parents.” She nodded swiftly and the two parted.   

Another unwelcomed shiver of unease passed through his shoulders. He attempted to shake it out and kept his chin up. As he made his way to radiology to pick up the scans of his arms, he wondered how everyone else would treat him once the word got out.  

 _You don’t know that he did this for sure,_ muttered his conscious, giving him the benefit of the doubt.  _Maybe he’s okay._ He sighed heavily and tried to slow his racing heart as the thoughts about the boy piled up in his head.  _What happened? Why did this happen? Does anyone know? Why aren’t his parents here yet? Is he on any meds for this? What will people say? Does he have anyone in his corner?_  

Owen knew if no one else was, he certainly would be. Soldiers had been discharged immediately after showing signs of mental distress to recover. He had seen self-injury in the army after soldiers had been subject to severe trauma. Some hurt themselves to prevent going back. He couldn’t imagine how awful it would be for a boy to do the same. 

After picking up the scans, he headed back to the ER to retrieve his things to find a phone and contact the family. As he tapped the phone on, he was met with two beaming faces of what he presumed to be a newlywed couple; the woman was in a white dress flowing out in all directions across the floor, flowers braided in her hair, and clasping hands with the man in a tuxedo. She was mid-twirl, and the man’s eyes glowed, warm and ecstatic.  _Not his parents. A sibling, maybe?_ Owen tapped on the phone again to study the man’s face and picked out resemblances. They were definitely brothers. Owen found himself smiling for a moment before calling over a nurse to figure out a parent’s number.  

Long, dirt-smeared red hair flashed behind his eyes. He jerked back and blinked hard. Slow-simmering horror began to build up in his chest.  

Owen spun on a dime made his way to an on-call room and thrust the door open. Failing to fight against his will, he began to pace the pitch black room. It smelled of antiseptic and scratchy hospital sheets and sweat. His fingers began to tremble, anxiety sending shivers through his body. He struggled to focus on the steady thump his shoes made against the carpet, the wheezing and rattling his breath made in his throat. Images slipped from behind his eyes like water running off a window pane. Shards of garbled words and mournful groans struck his head at jarring volumes, but cut off quickly. He couldn’t hold on to anything.  

The surgeon squeezed his eyes shut and jammed his fingernails into his palm, hissing in a slow breath. He stumbled to lock the door and groaned. Helicopter engines roared overhead, and he plunged under. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole "consent for stitches" thing is made up by me. Scars are Important to my gremlin brain. Pardon the falsified conversation between Megan and Owen.

_“Meg—Megan. Just breathe okay? Just, do that. Breathe.” Megan breathed steadily, audibly keeping sobs behind gritted teeth. Owen tugged fingers through his hair in frustration._ You can cry if you want,  _he thought. The connection was almost non-existent as it was, fuzzy and cutting in and out as wailing filled the air. Owen cursed and smacked on the headset. “God. Megan, get over here. Catch the chopper with the discharged and find me.”_  

 _“Why_ now,  _of all times, Owen? We are in a goddamn_ desert! _” his sister demanded through tears. “Why at_ all?”  _Rage flared in Owen’s stomach._  

 _“I don’t know, I don’t know Megs! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Just get here, it’ll all be fine.” Owen rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and began to pace the landing site._ I swear to God I will find him and kill him,  _he thought, fury making his muscles taut. He growled aloud in frustration._  

 _“I love you Owen, I have to go. I’ll see you soon,” Megan promised desperately, and hung up before she could finish the last word._  

 _She never did see him._  

Owen felt sweat trickle down his face as he trembled with rage.  _I will kill him. I will kill him. I will kill him._ The vow pounded in his head like a drum beat, too loud for him to bear. His heart hammered against his ribcage and pulsed in his fingertips, his neck. Owen shuddered a gasp and wiped tears roughly with the back of his hand.  _It was his fault; it was his fault._ His sister’s voice echoed in his head:  _I’ll see you soon._ Owen stumbled to the bed as her picture began to fade. The pounding in his head didn’t recede as reality settled in. It was coming from outside the door. 

“Owen?” He recognized the concerned voice of Maggie Pierce. He rubbed his face and yanked his fingers through his hair. The ringing in his ears subsided and realized she was only tapping lightly. He stared at the ground, wide-eyed and breathless.  

“No,” he rasped, shocked to hear his voice. He aged decades since he last talked to Megan. Losing his sister, an entire platoon, and three other surgeons did that to you, he supposed. 

“Unlock the door, Owen.” Fear struck a match in his chest. Could other people hear him? What had he said? Screamed? 

“No!” he croaked louder, squeezing his eyes shut. “Leave! I’m fine.” No reply came from behind the door, and he hoped Maggie left.  

“Page me if you need me,” she murmured reluctantly, then shuffled off. He listened to her footsteps quiet as moments passed. Owen heaved a deep breath and tangled his fingers in his hair.  

“Get it together, Hunt.” He worked to get his voice back, cracked a few knuckles, and unlocked the door. He squinted against the bright hospital lights and traipsed to the attending’s lounge, dizzy and floating with grief. He found Jackson Avery fumbling with a coffee cup and tsked in frustration. 

“Hey,” he murmured to Owen as he walked in. He gripped his shirt behind his shoulders and pulled it off over his head, saying nothing. He listened to Jackson pouring himself a cup of coffee and leaned into his cabinet to grab a new attending shirt. Owen prayed he didn’t notice how sweaty and shaken up he was.  

“You okay, Hunt?”  

Owen froze. “I’m fine, Avery.”  

He pictured him tilt his head in contemplation. “You don’t look fine.” 

“I am fine.” He forced a quick smile. Owen tugged the shirt on and poured himself a cup of coffee, keeping his eyes down. Jackson stayed silent for a moment. He ran his hand through his hair and gulped on his drink too quickly, grimacing as it burned his throat. He tried to still the tremor in his hands. He realized too late that caffeine wouldn’t help with that. 

“What was that page about this morning?” Owen leaned a hand on the table and let it take his weight. He felt he was trying too hard to seem relaxed, because he certainly wasn’t feeling it. 

“Lacs, but he wasn’t awake to give consent,” he muttered into his cup. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know that.” Jackson waved a hand in dismissal. “But I heard it was a kid. What happened?” Owen caught himself before he rolled his eyes in annoyance.  _Do we have to talk about this?_ Owen set his coffee down and shrugged his lab coat on again, hurriedly responding,  

“We don’t know anything for sure. We figured he did it himself.”  

Avery murmured “Oh,” in realization softly. “Oh. Well, if it’s not too late for stitches before he wakes up—” 

“Yeah, will do,” he called to Jackson passively as started to the ER.  _The whole hospital is gonna be on my case about this!_  

*** 

Owen furrowed his brow as his pager went off in his pocket. He slid his stethoscope to the left and focused on the patient under his hands. “Decreased breath sounds on the left, Kepner.” April murmured in acknowledgement just before Owen glanced at his pager.  _Noah’s conscious -Robbins._ His heart sped up. “Kepner, do you need me?” 

“No, no.” She shook her head firmly. “Go, I’m good.” He placed a hand on her back in gratitude before taking off towards the pediatrics wing. He took a steady breath before turning the handle slowly and stepping into the room. 

The steady metronome of monitors and beeps and clicks weren’t foreign to him, but seeing such a small person like this was startling. 

“You’re awake.” For the first time, the trauma surgeon met eyes with the boy. They were a light sea-green, unfocused and hazy. The boy’s chapped lips were parted in the beginnings of a disoriented question. Owen suppressed a wave of sympathy as he glanced at his arms. No words came from the boy’s mouth. He turned his head slowly, chest visibly rising and falling. He stared at his arms for a while. From where Owen stood he could imagine his heart pounding in his chest, the waves of his pulse in his body swaying him to and fro.  

His eyes were fuzzy and shifting as he worked to look at Owen. “I couldn’t do it, could I?” Owen expertly let no emotion pass his face but allowed aching empathy hollow his chest.  _Do what? Kill yourself?_ He chewed on his lower lip and tipped his head, studying Noah passively. Owen said nothing. 

The boy shifted around for a moment in his bed, examining the IV in his hand, then exhaled. He squeezed his eyes shut and a sob shook his body. “Oh,  _God,”_ he hissed, clutching his bandaged right arm. Owen felt a bolt of worry hit his chest and he reached out for a moment, then let his hand hit his side again. Owen swallowed and scripted his words in his head.  

“Noah, my name is Dr. Hunt. You've been in a...” he trailed off, not sure if what had occured was an accident. "You've been in an accident. You're at Grey Sloan Memorial." Noah didn’t lift his eyes from his arms. 

“I couldn’t do it,” he replied in a flat whisper. Owen watched tears form on the rim of his glasses. He took another moment before he spoke. 

“Noah, you are alive.” He spoke in fragments, layering his words with careful sheets of empathy, eyeing the boy closely. “You were hurt pretty badly.” Noah took a thin, even breath. Owen gazed at him desperately and waited for a confession. “Do you know how?” He made a mental note of his heart monitor blips slowing. Noah pressed his lips into a tight line and blinked tears from his eyes. “Me,” he whispered meekly, refusing to look at him. 

Owen felt a sigh shake his body.  _We were right._ “You are safe now, Noah.” 

Noah made no motion to reply. He grew still and stared off to an unknown place in his subconscious.  _He really tried to kill himself?_ Owen let another wave of empathy hit his chest, swallowing back the urge to clear his throat. 

It seemed futile to continue, but Owen spoke before he knew what he was doing. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, Noah. But you will be okay.” He knew he shouldn’t say anything until the psych consult arrived, so he waited a moment before backing out of the room. 

“Dr. Robbins will be around to check up on you. You can’t miss her; she’s got bright blonde hair and a chirpy little voice. She’s sweet.” Owen let himself smile half-heartedly, yearning for a reaction. Noah’s chest rose and fell once. 

“Alright,” he murmured. “Your page button is right there. I’ll be around if you need me.” 

As he turned and let the door click shut, he thought,  _why would he need you? That was absurd, Owen._ The doctor swallowed hard and picked up his pace to OR 4.  _It’s true. It was a suicide attempt._  


	4. Chapter 4

Owen rolled his shoulders against a throbbing ache and tugged the mask off his face. His mind was still buzzing quietly with questions about the kid he admitted earlier in the day. “Hey, Arizona?” he said. The peds surgeon shrugged off her surgery gown.  

“Yeah?” 

“You did a round on the attempt kid, right?”

Arizona slowly folded the gown across her arms and sighed. Owen caught her gaze and was relieved to see them shining in worry; not disgust, like so many doctors  “I did. His cuts are really deep, but they should heal alright. He’ll need a few more days on the peds floor before I can discharge him to psych. He didn’t say much.” Owen hummed in thought. “It was incredibly sad, though, seeing a child like that.” Owen nodded into his chest. She turned to him and leaned against the scrubbing sink. “I mean, I’ve admitted peds patients to psych for suicidal thoughts, but haven’t encountered many that fail and need to stay here for long before inpatient.” She twisted her mouth in thought. 

“Any sign of his parents yet?” 

“His mom is flying out here from Michigan. She didn’t sound surprised about what he did on the phone.” Owen grimaced. Arizona mirrored his expression. “Yeah, it's a real shame." 

Owen tipped his head and furrowed his brow in confusion. “But who was with him? Who  _found_ him and brought him here?”  

Arizona ran her fingers through her hair. “No idea. That’s the weird thing. Someone just called 911 that there was a kid passed out in his living room. A neighbor, maybe.” 

“It’s odd that they didn’t stick around though.” Arizona hummed in agreement. A lapse of silence stretched between them, and a flash of his flushed, round face blinked behind his eyes.  

“Was it just me, or did he not look seventeen?”

Arizona clicked her tongue and shot him a glance. “Are you gossiping about a patient, Hunt?” 

“N-no!” he exclaimed, caught off guard by her sudden accusation. He felt a twinge of frustration that his sympathetic curiosity could be taken as something snide. “I’m just confused I guess. Some things seem out of place here.” 

Arizona let out a heavy sigh. “You’re right, he certainly seemed younger than that,” she murmured. 

He crossed his arms and chewed on his lip.  The surgeon blurted, “You haven’t had Karev go in yet, have you?”  _I did not word that right._  

She eyed him for a moment. “Why? Karev  _only_  deals with kids. Noah is a kid, Owen. He just turned seventeen.” 

He could see where this was going put his hands forward. “Okay, that’s not what I meant to—” 

She straightened up and narrowed her eyes in contemplation as it dawned on her. “Are you suggesting that he’ll treat him any less because he did this to himself? That self-inflicted patients don’t deserve the best care we can offer them because they hit the lowest point in their life? No, not Karev.” She shook her head and started toward the door.  

“Arizona, I didn’t mean to accuse Alex--,” She turned and met him with a gaze that cut him off. 

“There are plenty of doctors in this hospital that treat patients like him poorly, Owen. They look at him with contempt and disappointment because he did this to himself and there are plenty other patients who need their help. You are not that doctor, and I appreciate that. Alex Karev is not that doctor. I will make sure of it.” 

She pushed against the scrubbing doors and left Owen alone. The trauma doctor let out a heavy sigh, half in exhaustion and half in relief.  

As he made his way down the stairs to the ICU to check up on a patient, he caught a glance of two interns learning on a gurney against the wall. He got a snippet of their conversation as he brushed past, brow furrowed in concern.  _Mallon and Reeves. What are they doing standing there?_ Owen kept his head lowered and picked up his pace. They made no motion that they noticed him. They whispered excitedly to each other.  

“Yeah, his arms were all cut up,” exclaimed Mallon. “What do you think he was able to do  _that_ with?”

Reeves slapped his forearm and leaned in.  “Yeah, and I couldn’t even stitch him up! I bet he  _wanted_ those ugly scars.”

Owen’s stomach churned in anger and slipped around a corner to listen. He could make out, just barely, “God, Em. I mean, who even  _does_ that to themselves? You know what, I bet he’s some sort of emo kid or whatever.” Owen heard a scoff from Emily Reeves. 

“Yeah. It’s so dumb. We had so many other patients who  _actually_ needed our help. Not just some self-obsessed, attention-seeking suicidal kid.” Rage and indignation made his fingers tremble. Owen stepped from behind the corner and crossed his arms, clearing his throat and glaring steadily. 

“Dr. Mallon, Dr. Reeves.” Their heads whipped up, shock and dread written incredibly clear across their faces. Owen was able to keep his tone level, though he was screaming with rage inside.  _How many bastards are in this hospital?_   

“Dr. Hunt, I—” the intern pleaded. 

“I do not want to hear it, Mallon,” he snarled. A sour taste rose in his throat as he leaned in. The two looked rightfully guilty and frightened. 

“You two are  _doctors._ You protect the public, and you do your damn best to help  _anyone_ who comes through these hospital doors. I don’t care if they did it to themselves or not. You took an oath to heal anyone who needs it. I am disgusted with your attitudes.” Horror shone in their eyes. He stepped closer and gritted his teeth. “You two are off this case and are to stay out of the OR until further notice.” 

“What?” cried Mallon in indignation. “No  _surgery?_ ” 

Owen narrowed his eyes in fury and jabbed a finger at them. “Don’t you  _dare_ challenge me on this!” he snapped. “You should be ashamed for how you acted today! If this is how you really feel, neither of you are cut out to be doctors.” They stared back in resentment. He pointed out in the hallway and clenched his teeth to keep his voice down.  

“That child was pushed to his breaking point today. He was forced to see a single option to make things right again, and he needs compassionate, caring people on his side to help him heal. Neither of you showed appropriate skill or maturity in this. If I see either of you come near that boy today, I will have you suspended from the intern program immediately. Get out of here.” They scuttled off, and Owen let his anger simmer.  

Owen had lost too many friends to the aftermath of Afghanistan. There was no way he’d let a seventeen-year-old kid get a bad rap and then bottom out. 

***

In a rare lapse of quiet later that day, Owen found himself heading down the peds hall.  _Making sure there’s no infection,_ he told himself. Alex Karev rushed past Hunt with a gurney and an intern, monitors wailing. “Need help?” Karev shook his head, his brow creased with determination.  _I wonder if he’s seen him yet._  

Before he entered the room, Owen took a breath and moved to tap on the doorframe. Noah glanced up a moment, then stared at his hands in his lap. From Arizona’s reports, he hadn’t said any more than he needed to. He cooperated fine, but mumbled too much for her taste. Owen didn’t say anything as he approached his bedside. 

The boy drew in a slow breath and stiffened. Owen was torn between staying silent and give him a routine once-over, or trying to pry something from him. 

“Your mom is several hours out, Noah.” A whimper sounded in his throat.  _I shouldn’t have started with that._ Owen paused and gave him room to elaborate, but he said nothing and kept his gaze lowered. He tried, softer this time, “Is there anyone else I can call for you? A family member, a friend?” He thought about the man on his phone. As he waited for a response, he focused on keeping his touch light while he peeled away the bandages.  _Reeves did a nice job dressing this, I’ll give him that._  

“Yes please,” he rasped after a dragged out silence. Owen bit against the smile twitching at his lips.  _He certainly doesn’t sound seventeen._ “In my phone. Dominique.” 

“Alright, Noah. We’ll have a nurse call her. Is that okay with you?” He kept his gaze steady on the boy’s face, who still hadn’t looked at him.  

He nodded slowly. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the pillow. As Owen unwrapped his right arm, the heart monitor chirped faster.  

The cuts seemed to have clotted. They would heal fine as long as they kept up the antibiotics and watched over them. When Owen began to turn his arm around, Noah twitched. “Wait.”  

Owen froze and eyed him. Noah lifted his head from the pillow and studied his arms. 

“Noah, with supervision, these will heal just fine. There’s still time to give you stitches, so there won’t be much scarring at all.”

He glanced at Owen, then focused on his arms again.“No, thank you. I’ll let them heal, like this.” The surgeon held on to his gaze as long as he would allow him to, and nodded slowly. He thought about the scar running down his leg. He got it when he first came to Grey-Sloan and began the new chapter in his life. He stapled the laceration himself, and felt a strange sense of pride in that scar. He may go as far to say he liked it. He supposed that’s a bit why Noah wanted to keep the scars; to remind him who he was. Owen checked his IV.

“Okay, that’s okay, too. You’ll have more nurses come in and poke around to make sure your IV is keeping up with the antibiotics you need.”  _Or, I could,_ he thought. Owen turned his arm around and Noah’s heart monitor began to pick up again. What he didn’t notice in all the commotion of before was the collection of scars he already had.  

Dozens, maybe close to a hundred thin pink and white scars striped the entirety of his arm. Some spots were patched with white and red from cuts that never healed right, and closer to his elbow, wide, deeper red scars rose up from the skin. And as he looked closer, the inside of his arm was just as marred, like he colored in from his wrist to his elbow in white stripes.  _He’s been doing this for a while, then._

Neither said a word as he unwrapped the other arm. Even more cuts scored his arm, but there were less scars. Owen could practically feel Noah’s heartbeat hit against his own as the heart monitor sped up.  

“You’re okay, Noah. Breathe.” Owen glanced up and nodded at him. “You’re fine. I’m just looking.” Noah touched his gaze for a moment before shuddering a sigh and squeezing his eyes shut again. Owen gently placed a few fingers on his arm. His pager beeped in his pocket but ignored it. 

“Sorry,” Noah hissed at once, trying and failing to contain a sob. Owen lifted his hands immediately and kept his voice steady. 

“It’s alright, Noah. It’s alright. I see scars every day.”  

“Sorry,” he choked again, shaking his head. Noah drew his arms away and pressed them tight into his chest. “Sorry, sorry. Not like these, not from this. You have other people. Other patients.” The trauma surgeon furrowed his brow, pulled up the rolling stool and settled down. He pushed down the frustration that began to rise in his chest.  _Please understand I won’t let you get hurt!_ He held on to his shaky gaze as long as Noah allowed. 

“I’m taking care of you. Right now, okay? We have other doctors taking care of other patients.” As pager went off again he fought against a grimace. “My job right now is to make sure you’re okay. I don’t hold any judgement.”  _Though many people do._  

Noah swallowed and roughly wiped away tears with the back of his hand. “Sorry.” He was barely audible, but laid his arms out at his sides again, allowing Hunt to continue. Owen breathed a sigh of relief and held a steady gaze with him. Tears glinted in his eyes. Owen searched his gaze earnestly. 

“Thank you, Noah. Dominique will be here soon. I won’t stick around for much longer.” As he finished up in silence, his pager went off twice more. Owen gave him a swift smile before ducking out the door and racing to the ICU.  


End file.
